


Don't You Want To Come Home?

by tendervittles



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Mind Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 10:44:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18444938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tendervittles/pseuds/tendervittles
Summary: Reek has a little unintentional adventure.





	Don't You Want To Come Home?

**Author's Note:**

> I wish Ramsay would torture whoever deleted my old account......
> 
> Anyway, this is me reposting everything.

  


When he isn’t hunting women, Ramsay moves slowly, deliberately, through the forest on foot, without the usual hunting party at his back.  Animals are a different sort of game and require a more finessed approach; human aren’t accustomed to being chased down like prey and run indiscriminately through the woods, crashing through the underbrush, crying and panting, with no regard for the trail they leave behind. The creatures that inhabit the woods beyond the Dreadfort are much cleverer.

Reek hangs back, following Ramsay and the dogs as quickly as he can.  It’s slow going—Reek is exceptionally unsteady on his feet, his boots don’t fit right and his missing toes make balancing a struggle. It’s difficult to focus on Lord Ramsay and move at the same time and Reek often stumbles.  He moves like an old man, shuffling along, dragging one foot after the other, anything not to fall.

“You’re going to scare off the game.” Ramsay has reprimanded him more than once, so Reek tries to move more quietly, but it’s to no avail.  Yet Ramsay still brings him along on these trips.

“We’re _bonding_.” His lord insists. Reek isn’t sure how this bonds them more than the certain other things they get up to in Ramsay’s bedchamber, but it isn’t his place to ask questions and so he obediently follows Lord Ramsay through the trees, stumbling over rocks and traipsing through shallow creeks, trying desperately to keep up.

* * *

 

Winter hits the North much more quickly than in the South.  Already the nights are growing colder and, out here, the game is growing scarcer as the animals return to their burrows and nests and don’t stray so far from home.  Ramsay has taken them out much further as a result, until he could no longer see the prickly spires of the Dreadfort rising above the trees, still without much luck.  It’s late afternoon now, and with winter on the horizon, the sun is already sinking.

Ramsay figures it’s time to start back.  Maybe he can bring down a couple squirrels on the return trip.  He whistles for the dogs and turns to retrieve Reek.

It isn’t hard to track down his pet, who is making so much noise it’s no wonder Ramsay hasn’t found any game.  Ramsay could beat him for that, but that’s a tired, old game and it would only be a perfunctory punishment.  Ramsay ducks behind a tree so Reek won’t see him and watches his pet fight to free his foot from a tangle of vines.

Maybe a new game is in order.  It would make up for this disappointing trip and would give Ramsay a chance to gauge Reek’s loyalty.  Truth be told, Reek has been exceptionally well behaved since the day Ramsay took him out of the dungeons and walked him through the Dreadfort, but one can never be too careful.  Ramsay has big plans for Reek and he needs his little creation to be absolutely perfect.

So instead of approaching Reek and informing him that it’s time to go, Ramsay moves away, whistles for the dogs again, and starts for home, keeping a quicker pace than necessary, leaving Reek behind.

* * *

 

Still battling the vines, Reek gives his leg a heaving pull and winds up in the heap on the ground.  It hurts and he whimpers as he hears Ramsay whistling for the girls again.  Twilight is falling on the woods, shadows reaching for Reek where he now sits in the dirt.  It must be time to go back.

Reek finally frees himself and struggles back to his feet.  He can’t see Ramsay or the girls anymore, has no idea which direction they’re moving in, but Reek often falls behind and he staggers off towards the sound of Ramsay’s whistle.

When Ramsay isn’t trying to bring down some poor girl, Reek actually enjoys their time in the woods.  Usually confined to the kennels or Lord Ramsay’s chambers, Reek doesn’t get many opportunities to enjoy the fresh air.  He likes to look at the flora and fauna that grow here, likes to hear the birds chirping and fluttering about in the treetops and listen to the trickling of the streams as he follows Ramsay wherever his master goes.  It instills in Reek a sense of peace he has rarely known in recent months.

Lost in his contemplations, Reek is startled to realize that the sun has sunk even lower and he can no longer hear Ramsay calling to the dogs.  He glances around anxiously.  Is he even still going the right way?

Reek searches around him for guidance, but he is no hunter.  Every patch of earth looks the same; there is no discernable trail for Reek to follow and, even if there was, how could he be sure it was leading him to Ramsay?  The sky is equally unhelpful.  Reek can’t find the gray stone spires of the Dreadfort and he only succeeds in temporarily blinding himself by staring into the setting sun.

Reek shivers as a chilly breeze cuts through his meager clothing.  He realizes his back is slick with sweat and he is close to panic.

What is Ramsay thinks he went and ran off _on purpose_? Reek would never, but he still vaguely remembers Theon and Theon’s defiance, and he knew Lord Ramsay would remember as well.  Theon wouldn’t hesitate; he would pick a direction and flee, as fast as he could.

…But Lord Ramsay must know that Reek isn’t Theon, not anymore, not ever again. He _must_ know that, right?  Reek would never leave his master’s side voluntarily; even if he were forced away, he would fight tooth and nail until he was back at Ramsay’s feet where he belonged, forever and always.

* * *

 

Back at the Dreadfort, Ramsay cleans himself up to join his father for dinner. As soon as he seats himself at the table, his father remarks on the absence of Reek.

“Have you finally dispensed with dragging that disgusting creature around with you?” Roose asks, obviously seeking an affirmative answer.

Ramsay knows his father has great distaste for his son’s penchant for bringing Reek with him wherever he goes.  Roose may be Warden of the North, he may have successfully conspired to bring about Robb Stark’s demise, but he is often at a loss to understand Ramsay’s choices.

“No, Father.” Ramsay responds, smiling to himself, “Reek is… having a night out.” He helps himself to half of roast chicken and a hearty helping of mashed potatoes and sprouts.

Roose frowns. “You took him hunting with you this afternoon.” He observes, his eyebrows drawing together, “Did you lose him?”

Of course his father _would_ puzzle it out; that was just like him.

Ramsay purposefully bites off a huge mouthful of chicken and chews slowly. Not for the first time, he wonders where Roose gets off ignoring Ramsay for much of his life and now assuming he can just tell Ramsay what to do and criticize his methods whenever it please him.

“I didn’t _lose him_.” Ramsay answers, “I’ll fetch him back eventually.”

“Eventually? You do remember that your _Reek_ is actually Theon Greyjoy, Balon Greyjoy’s only living son and a powerful hostage, in spite of your… attentions?

 _Actually, he’s not anymore_ , Ramsay wants to contest, _ask him yourself, you’ll see_. But he only nods and says “yes Father.”

“…And if he runs off and escapes us?” Roose continues, “What then?”

Unable to contain himself, Ramsay bursts into laughter.  Roose glares.

Ramsay is still chuckling to himself as he takes a sip of wine and clears his throat. “Reek will never leave me.” He explains, “Why, I bet right now he’s curled up under some tree, crying and waiting for me to come bring him home.”

* * *

 

Deep in the woods, the sun has finally receded completely and darkness has settled over the trees and the rocks and the streams, and Reek collapses from exhaustion. His mind is reeling, his body spent from traipsing aimlessly here and there, lost in blind panic, calling out desperately for his master.

Reek’s already threadbare clothing is torn, his exposed skin bleeding in several places, on top of the bruises so carefully cultivated by Ramsay, the result of Reek stumbling around in the dark, trying to find his way.  He had splashed indiscriminately through several streams, soaking his boots all the way through and his breeches all the way to the knee.  His hands were muddy and scraped from all the times he had fallen.

Now, lying on the forest floor, breathing in the scent of dirt and rotting leaves, Reek finds he doesn’t have the strength to pick himself up.  He flops over onto his back and stares up at the stars twinkling in the heavens.  Leaves rustle in the breeze and, somewhere, a wolf howls mournfully. It sounds as despondent as Reek feels.

The ground is hard and cold, so Reek rolls himself back onto his side and drags himself over to the nearest tree.  It’s an old tree, tall with a wide base and roots that protrude from the ground and cradle Reek’s fragile body the way Ramsay’s arms sometimes do. He curls against the rough bark, tucking a mangled hand beneath his head.  He sniffles and tears leak from his swollen, tired eyes.

* * *

 

He supposes he must have slept, for when he opens his eyes again, the stars have moved and the temperature has dropped.  Reek is shivering uncontrollably now and his remaining fingers are stiff and numb. He pulls himself up and rubs at his legs and arms, trying to restore some feeling to his limbs.

What woke him?  The moonlight lends him a little light.  The trees and underbrush are still, even the wind has ceased to blow, but still he imagines glowing eyes watching him.  Shadowcats, owls and wolves and worse—he shouldn’t make a sound, but fear overwhelms him and Reek sobs against his tree.

He presses himself against the unyielding wood.  In his mind, it becomes the heart tree in the center of the godswood at Winterfell, although the bark of that tree is white and smooth and this, a mottled brown and rough against his cheek.

But he is desperate, and so, though he has no gods anymore, Reek prays.

* * *

 

He loses himself in what are not so much devotions as fevered pleadings and when a tongue, flat and wet, rasps against his temple, Reek thinks the gods have answered his prayer for relief with death. 

But the animal is whining and thrusting a wet snout into his ear and when he opens his eyes it’s Kyra, his favorite of Ramsay’s bitches.  He throws his arms around her neck.

That’s how Ramsay finds them; Reek clutching the dog, wetting her coat with his tears.

“Reek.” Lord Ramsay’s voice is soft and even.

“M’lord?” He croaks.  He hardly dares to believe Ramsay has come for him; is Ramsay the answer to his prayers? Or will his lord accuse him of trying to flee?  Reek isn’t sure he can suffer a beating right now.

But to his surprise, Ramsay is crouching before him and his arms are open, inviting Reek to him.

“Don’t you want to come home?”

And Reek does, even if ‘home’ now means the place where he is beaten, starved and mutilated.  He crawls into his master’s waiting arms.

Ramsay holds him against his broad chest; he grips too tightly, but Reek hardly notices. He is desperate for warmth and he clings to his lord as if for dear life, and truly, it is Ramsay to whom he owes his life to now.

“Yes m’lord.” His response is muffled, both from his own tears and his face pressed against Ramsay, and his voice is thick.

The relief of being rescued sets off another round of crying, but Ramsay patiently soothes him and gently wipes away his tears.

“There, there, sweetling.” He murmurs, “I’ve got you, you’re safe now, and back where you belong.  Shh now.” Reek nods along with the words and when Ramsay lifts him into his arms, he finally feels like his night’s ordeal is at an end.

“We’ll be home soon.” Ramsay consoles him.

Reek rests his head on Ramsay’s shoulder and is asleep before they make it back to the Dreadfort.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on twitter @_tender_vittles


End file.
